“I don’t send you into uncertainty alone.”
The words did something dangerous to my chest.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
I showered, then dressed quickly.
Jeans. Sweater. Boots.
He watched, not hungrily this time.
Assessing.
Protective.
When we stepped outside, the snow had thinned into a soft drift.
The air felt different.
Charged.
As if something had shifted in the ecosystem.
In the car, I stared out the window as trees blurred past.
“Do you think my mother knows what Alpha Mail is?” I asked quietly.
“Yes.”
My head snapped toward him.
“She does?”
“I think she knows more than you realize.”
My stomach dropped.
“She’s not the woman you think she is,” he continued.
“You don’t know her.”
“I know women who build reputations on restraint.”
The words hit too close.
“She spent her life maintaining appearances,” I said.
“Exactly.”
Silence.
A thought began to take shape in the back of my mind.
One I didn’t like.
